Flight
by Lilya
Summary: AU. There were two girls in white, forever up in the attic, always living among the shadows of their own confused minds - until one day, they found the light.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Flight

Author: Lilya

Genre: Angst/Drama

Summary: AU. Susan and Millicent will spread their wings against the shadows that bind them down.

Main characters: Susan Bones, Millicent Bulstrode

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: The world belongs to J. K. Rowling. This development belongs to me.

Author's notes: Millicent Bulstrode is listed as an Half-blood on Rowling's notes, however I don't remember ever seeing it written in a book – and I needed her to be a Pureblood because Daphne Greengrass just doesn't have the physique du role. I hereby declare her a Pureblood for the purposes of this fiction.

**FLIGHT**

She wanders over to the window and stops to look at those new, pretty leaves when she sees her.

There is a girl right in front of her – not that other girl who sleeps in the same room with her, a new one.

How weird… she looks oddly familiar, as if she knew her.

She wonders if she had known her before…then she pushes the thought away because thinking about before makes her head hurt and sometimes it makes her cry, too, even if she does not quite understand what she remembers.

Before does not matter.

Has there even been a before?

Maybe those are just bad dreams, only they will not go away.

Perhaps if she asked nicely, they would give her a potion to let her sleep – she already takes so many…

She frowns and starts counting on her fingers.

One, two, three, four – this many potions.

Surely there is room for one more?

Maybe he would give her a nice potion to make her sleep.

She wants to ask him, but she knows she is not to speak unless he talks to her first.

She wonders if she could talk to the lady, only she never sees her.

Maybe the other girl – not this one, the other one, what's her name, she is always forgetting names – maybe she has seen her somewhere, she knows they call her more around the house.

She tries to remember what she had seen when they had brought her there, but nothing comes.

Perhaps it has been too long.

All she knows is the tiny room with two beds and the tiny bathroom where the roof comes down and the other rooms, bigger rooms full of light.

She remembers the four bassinettes, two on every side, with the little sheets and little covers in pink or blue all ready. Next there's a room with bigger beds, but lower, with high bars for bigger babies – there is a name for those… oh, infant beds, that's the word!

She is always so happy when she remembers a word, too bad the infant beds are empty, and so are the cradles and so are the little blackboards hanging at their feet.

It seems so sad, yet part of her is troubled and she can't understand why.

There are two rooms filled with toys – stuffed animals and wooden blocks and rocking horses and little brooms.

There is a big, big bathroom but they cannot use it because it's for the babies.

That is all her world.

Bottle of potions long and short, all in a row, then all day cleaning and dusting and knitting and sewing little clothes with the other girl.

Maybe this new one, too, now. She smiles at her, hesitantly, and she smiles back.

Did she say her name already?

She really wishes she was not so bad with names.

If the other girl was here, she'd know, she always knows.

She wonder if this new girl who looks so familiar knows the other girl too. She does, she knows she does, although she doesn't think about it because it's from Before.

But if it's from Before, she should know their names and maybe they know hers.

All the little blackboards have no names, too.

Names are important.

Empty beds are bad, very bad, all of them.

Sometimes she wakes up after a bad dream and the other girl is not in bed and then she is not sure if the other girl was real or not.

Sometimes, if the dream has been real scary, she tries to pretend she has just gone to their tiny toilet or out in the baby rooms, even if it is not allowed after dark.

Millicent.

That's her name.

Names are important, even if she forgets all the time.

Millicent.

And he is to be called Master, always.

Yes, master. No, master.

Never ever forget or it hurts so much, so much.

It usually does when she goes to the other room, the room downstairs with the big bed and the dark drapes – what color are they, blue or black? It's always so dark in there when He calls her, even by day – and the drawer in the wardrobe…

She is afraid of that room, afraid of that drawer and the bed and _**him**_!

He always laughs and calls her Sue but she doesn't like that.

She doesn't like it, not any of it, not even when he says she does and laughs….

She leans against the frame, taking shaky breaths and reminding herself she has not been called downstairs for some time now.

She vaguely remembers being sick, perhaps that's why she has not been called down, why there are no bruises on her arms or cuts – not new ones, anyway, she knows by now that those white ones she sees are not going away.

As she slowly pushes herself back, she sees the new girl staring straight at her, but it's no girl at all. She is so pale, maybe she is a ghost.

Only sad people become ghosts and she looks very very sad.

She wears a loose white dress, like hers and Millicent's, like all the dresses they are given, and she has brown hair.

So many lines around her eyes, even if she's not old, and there's a small bump in the front of her dress.

The same bump that's in front of her own.

Dazedly, fearfully, she brings her hands to her stomach and watches the other girl do the same.

She is her.

It's her...her image.

Her _**reflection**_.

Name.

The girl's name is Susan Bones.

Her name is Susan Bones.

There was a battle at Hogwarts and she and Milly fought while so many died, but they did not die.

How much time? Three years, four?

Susan remembers the screams of her classmates as they were killed after _**they**_ had won, she remembers sharing a cell with Hannah but then Hannah had been executed because she was a half-blood.

Susan has not died, they could not kill her…pureblood, magical blood, waste not want not, they had hurt her so bad, they did it because she had to learn her lesson, she had to learn it well, in her bones and then she was a pureblood witch and young…

They had given her to him, to the man of the dark room, to Macnair and she knows, she knows what he has done to her, over and over, for his own fun and to get her pregnant, to get her to bear him pureblooded children for their cause.

Not children, daughters. Fair Susan for pretty daughters to marry off but she has already had a big belly, twice, but they were sons so they had to die, only Millicent for sons, strong pureblood sons to fight and die while pretty daughters marry.

In that single moment, everything is horribly, painfully clear.

Memories floats before Susan's eyes – things she has seen, things she has felt and lived, like morbid pictures, like the scars on her body.

She does not faint. She does not cry or scream.

Before the moment passes, Susan Bones throws herself through the window. Glass and wood shatter under her weight, shards and splinters rip her flesh, then she falls down, down to her death and a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Author's notes: I must admit I creeped myself out as I was writing it. I was also planning to start publishing it when my exams started, but they got here earlier than I expected - this is preventive cheering-up.

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* * *


	2. Chapter 2

II

It begins with Susan's death.

It won't be written in history books, but that's how it is.

It starts when Millicent walks up the path she just raked, the gravel crunching beneath her feet, and looks up to see a window explode around a dark shape, see all the glass shards around Susan catching and reflecting the sunlight, all suspended in the air for a moment before they come crashing down.

_They will never know she saw the body in those short minutes before the alarm was fully raised._

Millicent stands at the corner of the house and watches that broken corpse spill red blood on the pavement with dispassionate eyes but inside a part of her feels suddenly awake, awake and relieved and envious and lots of other things all wound up in a knot she can't undo. Yet.

As voices raise and footsteps approach, she turns and walks back inside, to her next chore but with Susan's very last images burned in her brain.

That night, Millicent dreams of the battle and wakes up in cold sweat, anger and desperation clawing at her chest. Her eyes are filled with tears, but she does not cry.

There is only one bed in the room, now, and only one set of clothes in the closet, only one toothbrush on the sink but they can't fool her, not anymore.

She does not need to turn her head where Susan used to sleep. She just stares at the white plaster overhead as the light creeps across the ceiling.

Susan's corpse still dances in front of her eyes.

As inexorably as Earth revolves around the Sun, her mind is slowly clearing. Some memories lose the haze surrounding them, others don't and Millicent just lets them be, letting everything sink in little by little.

Eventually, she _**knows**_.

Not that it comes as a surprise. In a sense, she has always known – her Imperius curse is not as strong, the potions she takes not as numerous as Susan's. Perhaps they thought it a fitting punishment for her: the Slytherin and pureblooded witch who dared to raise her hand against the Dark Lord and his servants is now a Doll and a servant of the House of McNair, lower than an House Elf, a mere beast of burden.

Part of her was always aware of her own humiliation.

And now she's wide awake.

_It begins with her. _

The trouble with the Imperius curse is that, unlike similar potions, it does not keep its prisoner from remembering – and Millicent has been coming and going around the house for the last four years.

They never bothered to watch their tongues around her.

By day, she keeps up her duties – _**all**_ of them – faithfully, without slipping or faltering, but every night she lies awake for hours, raking through her memory for useful information, painstakingly trying to put everything together.

She has never been the scholarly type, like Tracy Davis, but she always had a good memory. It always served her well – at times, even too well.

Occasionally, right before falling asleep, she considers, with more than a little irony, that she's really lucky to have such level-headedness and such an unexpressive face.

And for all the not-exactly-easy times she had at Hogwarts, she's thankful for some of the skills she learned rigorously outside the class.

It's been almost five years from the Battle of Hogwarts and Potter's death: all the opponents of the New Ministry are abroad or in Azkaban.

Only a handful remains in hiding, like Weasley and Granger, but all they do is move about aimlessly to avoid capture, too crushed to consider anything beyond mere survival.

Yet there's a fourth category no one ever considers: those who did not have a chance to fight, those who were threatened and pardoned back in line, those who cannot speak up against the New Order for they are unwillingly part of it.

Millicent knows exactly where to find the allies she needs.

Among the most frequent visitors of the Manor there are Theodore Nott and his father.

She remembers the first time she saw her old Housemate there very well, even if it was years ago. He had excused himself to use the restroom, she was bringing the tea Master McNair had ordered – there aren't many enjoyments _**Master**_ gets from her, she's not delicate, beautiful Susan, but showing her off to the other purebloods is one of those.

They passed each other in the hall – Theodore did nothing as obvious as gasp, but his face blanched and the pity in his eyes hurt more than anything _**Master**_ had ever done to her.

It was the first and last time she openly met his gaze – he never looks in her direction now.

Betting everything on that single look is extremely dangerous and Millicent spends days pondering on it. She manages to resolve herself a couple of days before the Notts' next visit.

_It begins with a note slipped in his pocket as she helps him put on his cloak._

She wrote it on the back of a ripped piece of parchment with the stub of a pencil she found as she was emptying the garbage bin in the Mistress' study.

She waits for almost two weeks.

He Materializes with his House Elf one early afternoon as she's tending the garden in a secluded part of the property.

Millicent does not show it, but her heart almost bursts with relief.

They spend the next four hours talking, going over one detail after the other. It's nothing big yet, just comparing notes and laying down some serious groundwork, like what they can do and who can be recruited.

There can't be too many people, not yet, and all must be handpicked. They cannot afford to fail or, worse, be discovered before they can even start.

When she walks back to the manor – alone – they have agreed to exchange messages only through Dory, the Notts' House Elf, and settled on a short list of suitable candidates.

The very next day, Theodore approaches the first one: Percy Weasley.

It's not an easy task, but he has to persist because he's exactly what they need: smart, level-headed and in perfect position to gather more info.

It takes almost a month before the Gryffindor agrees to talk to her and only because it will be quite easy to find an excuse for him to be there.

They meet on May 2nd.

Millicent is two weeks pregnant.

* * *

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	3. Chapter 3

III.

Millicent Bulstrode and Percy Weasley meet while Master is on a hunting trip with Dawlish and Mistress has her weekly chess match at Mrs. Belby's.

He can't hold back a gasp when he sees her, so different from the girl he vaguely remembered from his school days.

She's still her calm and collected self, but now there's a blaze smoldering behind her façade.

Millicent knows she's pregnant – she knew right away, as a Doll she has to take a M.P.T. (Magical Pregnancy Test, 100 infallible) after every encounter with her Owner.

When she saw the results, she almost gave herself away.

A furious, primeval scream rose within her, her hands itched to grab, tear and wreck everything in the next rooms.

Fortunately, her rationality caught up with her before she even parted her lips: after all, her pregnancy could be useful.

Now she wouldn't risk to be Reassigned or, worse, Dismissed, nor she would be Called to Duty.

She knew, or rather suspected from pieces of bawdy conversations she overheard while serving Master and his friends their after-dinner brandy and cigars, that other girls were still Called during their first months but Master McNair's _**games**_ were way too dangerous and he knew it.

It must have been a great day when he brought his toys home – Merlin knows he had lots of fun with both of them, trying out all the things he certainly can't do to his lawful wife. She'd hex him straight into next month if he as much as suggested it.

Yes, happy as a pig in the mud. How fitting.

Schooling her features, Millicent placed the test result in an envelope and left it on McNair's desk before heading down in the kitchen to start her chores.

A couple of hours later, she had been summoned to the Masters' presence – standing there unmoving and demure as they carelessly discussed her future was one of the hardest things she had ever done. She felt cold sweat dripping down her back and all her fears right out in the open – there was too much at stake.

She was not afraid of McNair, but his wife was a whole different matter: if there was somebody who could have discovered her rouse, that was her.

Fortunately, she barely looked at her throughout the discussion. And neither of them had thought of restricting her access to the rest of the house.

It couldn't have gone better and she makes sure Nott and Weasley know.

She can still spy on her owners and, more importantly, she still has free access to the Manor's library.

She has been going through the huge collection of tomes since Susan's death, memorizing spells and hexes and sending them to her co-conspirators: it always pays to know exactly which weapons the enemy can employ and if Potter didn't want to get his hands dirty, they're definitely not averse to fighting fire with fire.

Nobody has noticed yet and Millicent doubts they ever will: McNair is not of the scholarly persuasion – in fact, this collection comes mainly from the Mistress' family, and no wonder since she used to be in Ravenclaw, but being the wife of a high-ranking Death Eater carries a lot of social obligations that leave her no time for reading.

The lighter workload is also welcome since it leaves her more time to think and distract herself from what's happening to her body.

There's so much to think about now that their rebellion is slowly growing – so much to plan, so much to consider, so many pieces to fit together and candidates to check.

They are also researching Muggle warfare and weapons – the last thing the elitists in power would think about.

It was Percy's idea – he and Theodore are studying guns, while she specializes in explosives.

Another advantage to being the servant is that now she knows the Manor better than her Masters.

As the first trimester rolls to a close, she finally learns that the being she's carrying – and whom she has been referring to as "It" – is actually a boy.

The news thrill McNair and inflates his ego for a job well done – of course, last time Millicent conceived a girl it was entirely her fault.

The proud mother doesn't feel particularly proud: she just hopes she won't feel so tired anymore and her head will stop aching.

But she starts thinking of the baby as he – a subtle change that at first goes unnoticed, mainly because the discovery has also seen the hatching of a plan.

As Millicent's belly grows, so does their organization and soon they can start preparing for their first action: C-4 packets start being smuggled into the house, she and Theodore argue about structures and position, Percy works himself into the ground trying to find his brother and Granger.

The second trimester is pretty hectic and she's more than happy for it.

She has never felt better in her whole life, she could go on forever but around December, her eighth month, climbing up and down the stairs becomes too uncomfortable.

The McNairs reluctantly excuse her from service and Millicent finds herself more or less confined in the attic – meaning that she still goes downstairs if she needs to, but only when both McNairs are out and not likely to show up for at least three hours.

The organization's communication system works very well, so Percy and Theodore keep her fully up to date, but she still feels left behind and idle.

She's stuck waiting with the baby, but at least she doesn't resent him – not him.

It's strange, but as much as she hates all the things this pregnancy did to her and her body, somehow she's got used to her baby.

That's how she calls him now – hers. Not McNair's or Voldemort's, just hers.

It surprises how possessive she has become – perhaps it's a reaction to the knowledge she'll be looking after him only until he's three, then he'll be shipped off to Hogwarts, where all children like him will grow up duly brainwashed and fanatically loyal to the Dark Lord. They are, after all, the new working class that will replace all those unsuitable half-bloods and Muggle-borns.

Millicent feels acrid bile raising in her throat every time she thinks about it – which is happening a lot lately.

Often, she also thinks about Susan.

She almost understands her now, but she still wonders how it was for her – if realization burned through her last shred of sanity or dawned on her gently.

Sometimes, Millicent feels sorry for her.

Merlin knows they were barely aware of each other's existence back at school and when Susan got pregnant, she became her servant as well – not to mention having to take her place as Master's chief toy, which was all but fair trade: Millicent was not as beautiful, not as fragile and not as entertaining as Susan, all facts McNair resented and didn't hesitate to take out on her.

But it was impossible to resent poor childlike Susan, who certainly had it harder than her.

Millicent tried to take care of her as much as she could, out of an impulse she neither understood nor regretted.

Often, Millicent misses her – but at the same time she's glad, truly glad that _**Master**_ can't get his hands on her anymore.

She was an only child, so she's not really sure what it means to have a younger sister – but when she tries to think about it, it's Susan she sees, not one of her housemates.

The last two months drag by slowly, almost peacefully.

Then, everything seems to happen at once, starting with the birth of her son.

It's January 16th – she wakes up with the first contractions and ends up staying in bed the whole day, with the only help of the resident House Elf and a callous midwife who brought her apprentice along to make her practice on an expendable mother.

Luckily – or rather Weasley-ly, though she will never know how on Earth he managed to arrange that – the apprentice happens to be Sylvia Fawcett, an old friend from school and fellow-rebel who slips her potions against the pain while Mrs. Edgecombe focuses solely on the absolutely-not-expendable baby.

Around half past four, a loud cry echoes in the attic.

As Millicent nurses her baby for the first time, she marvels at his beauty and the lack of resemblance with McNair. Suddenly she realizes what she has brought into this world: not McNair's pureblood puppy, not even her baby, though he takes noticeably after her, but a human being, a little independent creature.

While Sylvia cleans up, she starts planning.

When the ex-Ravenclaw leaves, she will have quite a message to send to the other two – perhaps not quite clear, but they will understand.

Downstairs, preparations for the Naming Ceremony have already begun.

Cuddling her son close, Millicent stares at the wall with an unfocused gaze – but in her mind's eye she sees the wheels of fate slowly turning.

* * *

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	4. Chapter 4

IV.

It's been two weeks since the boy was brought into the world – two hectic weeks, most of which spent hurrying up and down the stairs, alternating house chores and childcare.

Now he is downstairs for the first time, but he's contented with staying snuggled up to her. Millicent lightly caresses his head trapped in the simple coif, wishing it were his downy black hair.

It's snowing outside, she can see it through the high windows and wonders what her son would do if she brought him close to the glass and allowed him to look at the white flakes slowly falling.

But of course, she has orders.

So she sits on the sofa with the baby in her lap, in the Masters' private parlor.

It's a nice, airy room that overlooks the garden, exquisitely furnished with sofas and comfortable armchairs near the large, roaring fireplace.

Small tables support Chinese vases and sculptures, tasteful pictures hang from every wall – the subtle touch of Mrs. McNair, again.

A long-case clock from the 18th century stands against the wall, like a king before his subjects or a tower ever-watching over a valley.

It's a beautiful piece and Millicent is quite fond of the motto painted on the dial in black, swirling letters that curiously contrast both with its gilded case and its neat numbers: _Tempus Fugit_.

As she watches it, the clock strikes half past six.

It's her cue.

She stands up, smoothing her skirt with one hand while supporting the baby with the other, then moves to the ballroom.

Usually it's just a huge empty room, but tonight it's filled with rows and rows of chairs where practically the whole New Ministry sits.

Millicent can feel their eyes on them as she walks on without faltering, but she has to fight against the urge to hug her baby and glare at them until they lower their eyes, ashamed of themselves.

She walks between the two blocks of seats, stepping on the dais and approaching McNair as Ulric Savage finishes his speech. When the Master takes the baby from her arms without even glancing at him, she has to use all her willpower not to punch him and take him back.

The audience claps politely and McNair steps forward flanked by his pretty wife.

"Dear friends and colleagues," he begins. "I thank you for joining us in my humble home to celebrate the birth of my first Baseborn, for the glory of Our Dark Lord and our new world."

He raises the child over his head, probably scaring him as he starts squirming. Millicent just watches them, her hands intertwined behind her back.

"I present you Hunter Grindaxe."

Millicent doesn't even try not to shudder as the whole room applauds and her son starts crying – perhaps protesting his begetter's taste.

A bit red in the face, McNair thrusts the bundle back in his mother's arms with a glare. "Keep him quiet, you stupid cow," he hisses.

Millicent cuddles him and rocks him, humming a song while some other Ministry official takes the stage.

When all the speeches are over and the buffet begins, she sits on a chair with her boy, obediently showing him to anyone who comes to see them, or rather study them.

As if they were animals in a zoo – the new race.

Across the room, she sees Theodore Nott idly set his pocket watch.

After a while, she can finally excuse both of them and go back to the attic to feed him.

"Better now, isn't it?" she whispers after helping him burp.

The baby giggles and Millicent can't hold back a smile before placing him in his cradle. For a while, she lingers by his side, mesmerized by the raise and fall of his tiny chest.

She feels guiltily relieved that she doesn't have enough milk and had to feed him with a baby bottle from the start – it makes everything both easier and more difficult.

By half past nine, most of the guests have left and Mrs. McNair has retired for the evening while Master entertains his Death Eater friends in the parlor – she saw the light from the hallway shine on the gravel path and the cloaked figures walk toward the gates.

Slowly, Millicent pulls herself away from her seat between the cradle and the window, aimlessly wandering around the room. The lights are still off, but she doesn't need them.

Once again, she can't help but think about Susan, of all the time they spent in these very rooms – together, in a sense.

It's strange how close she feels to her when, in the end, she barely knew her at all. It doesn't stop her from wishing her baby could have been a girl, so she could have named it after her fellow prisoner.

Up and down she walks, glancing out of every window as pangs of nervousness grip her stomach.

Her son begins to cry softly.

Quiet as a ghost, she comes back to him – it must be around ten by now.

Millicent changes his diaper, then sits on the rocking chair and feeds him the last bottle.

No thoughts cross her mind, it's too busy absorbing every little feeling, every insignificant detail and storing them away, safe deep inside.

After the burp, she starts putting on him layers and layers of clothes she takes from a nearby pile – not an easy task as he's squirming like a little starfish.

One last glance out of the window reveals nothing but darkness.

Millicent swallows hard, then resolutely pushes back all her fears and starts wrapping her son in a blanket.

Cradling him carefully to her chest, she opens the door and quietly slips out. She's very light on her feet, but tonight she's taking extra precautions as she creeps toward the back stairs.

Once the door closes behind them, Millicent quietly lets go of a breath she didn't know she was holding.

The descent is actually quite fast – she knows those stairs as well as the attic and even if Mrs. McNair is still awake, she won't hear her.

A few minutes later, Millicent is out of the backdoor and running on the snow-covered lawn.

They are waiting for her under the old oak tree, but she doesn't see them until she crosses the barrier they set up.

They move at the same time, as if they had practiced for hours– Theodore placing a cloak around her shoulders while Percy casts a Water-Repelling Charm and a Warming Spell on her light house shoes.

"What time is it?" she breathes.

"Six minutes to go. Are you all right?" Theodore asks her.

Millicent nods. "The cargo?"

Percy shakes his head. "Didn't make it through."

"It doesn't matter," Theodore cuts in categorically. "Once you're out, there's no going back in. You know that."

She doesn't look at him, preferring to press a quick kiss on her son's forehead. "It doesn't matter. It should be enough anyway."

She kisses her son again, then takes a cuddly toy from a pocket of the apron they gave her to go with her new black uniform and places in the fold of the blanket.

Slowly, she steps toward her old Housemate and places the baby in his arms, briefly correcting his hold.

"His name is Richard Bullstrode," she says, her voice firm and proud.

Theodore nods, then both he and little Richard vanish into thin air.

Millicent blinks once and turns toward Percy.

"If you want to leave…"

"No," she interrupts, moving to stand next to him. "I'll be fine"

There's nothing else to say as two set of eyes stare at the square form of the house.

They're standing so close Millicent thinks she can hear his pocket watch ticking away the seconds.

Inside, among laughter and chattering, the tall-case clock begins to strike the hour.

The explosion shatters the windows in a rain of shards, drowning out anything else.

It's January 31st. The war has begun.

**The End**

Author's note: so, we came to the end. Perhaps it wasn't what you expected, but I hope you liked it anyway. It's been a lot of fun writing this story.

In case you wanted to know how it really ends, the brief answer is: I don't know.

The long answer is: while I had a couple of ideas for a sequel, they weren't as good as this first part and I have already started other projects. The story really ends here for the moment, though inspiration could strike again some time in the future.

Whether you liked it or hated it, leave a review and let me know


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